


In. Out. Silence.

by bluebottle762



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, brotherhood era, cw depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebottle762/pseuds/bluebottle762
Summary: It's very easy to feel alone, even when you know you're not. That doesn't stop it feeling real though.





	In. Out. Silence.

**Author's Note:**

> There is no reference of self harm in this fic, although there is talk of thoughts close to suicide, without it actually being about suicide. It's very passive depression.

Prompto sits silently on the kitchen floor, his legs crossed, his wrists on his knees. He’s perfectly still, not even an anxious knee bounce or a cautious flick of the head to shift his growing hair out of his eyes─ he’s still not used to the style. In and out, he breathes on automatic, and the politely soft sensation acts like a slurred metronome to the weaving symphony of internal injustice.

In. Out. Silence.

It’s gloomy in the kitchen. All the lights in the house are off, all the windows closed, although the door remains unlocked. It’s an unsent invitation, key in the lock, dangling, unturned. He doesn’t know who it’s for.

In. Out. Silence.

“Back by eight” She’d said. The steady blue numbers on the oven read 21:26. In. Out. 21:27. There is food in the cupboard, components of a meal unprepared; two plates on the countertop, accusingly clean. He doubts she’ll notice if they stay there until tomorrow. It’s not like she doesn’t care, he knows she does, her smile from around the door pinched and pained, ink-washed with concern─ but she still won’t notice. Exhaustion will do that to you.

In. Out. Silence.

He wants to stand up, get to his feet and start walking. He wants to walk- _run_ , until his lungs burn, and his socked feet can take him no further, and when he’s there all he wants is to collapse. Collapse and drift into uncaring dust, to sink into the ground and meld with it, to simply pale into further insignificance until nothing of him remained to be seen or heard.

But he won’t, although there’s nothing stopping him. In this moment he has complete control over himself and his actions, and nothing and no one would be able to stop him simply rising from his spot on the kitchen floor and taking off. It’s terrifying. No one would even know. No one would notice him leaving, no one would guess at his destination, his end goal, his inner workings. No one would know where to look for him, or that they even had to until he was far too gone to find. That’s what stops him.

In. Out. Silence.

People would notice, come tomorrow morning when he doesn’t pass his fellow runners, they’d remember. When the bell rings for his first class, Noctis would pull out his phone under his desk and text him, confused by his absence. His name would still be called on the register, a pause would wait for him, and even though he would not answer, the thought of him would be present, however fleeting it may be. This knowledge feels like heartbreak. 

He reasons that it’s unfair that he is unable to simply pass from the universe without consequence, that the ability to peacefully fade is not something he is able to possess. It’s frustrating, and he regards his few feeble attachments to the real world with momentary resentment. But it’s only momentary. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s complicated, and he won’t deny it the space in which to be so. It needs worked out, but on his own like this, so afraid to show his face above his carefully constructed walls, he knows he’s resigned himself to undertaking that task alone. 

In. Out. The confused fumbling of keys attempting to fit in a lock already occupied.

Quickly, he’s on his feet and reaching for the light switch, a hand already reaching into the pocket of his sweats to hook an ear bud up into his ear. The smile goes on, soft and distracted, and his head ducks forward as he makes himself look busy. The stage is set by the time she makes it through the front door and into range. 

If she notices through her tired and apologetic smile, she doesn’t pass comment.


End file.
